The moment they got back to the bunker, Shion staggered across the room and flopped onto his bed, leaving the door wide open behind him.

Nezumi frowned at the prostrate boy. "Hey, you didn't close the door."

Shion didn't acknowledge the comment. Instead, he buried his face in his pillow and kicked his boots off with his other foot.

"You're always complaining about how dangerous it is to leave the door unlocked, but I guess caution goes to the wind the minute you take a drink. I'm surprised you're not dead yet."

Shion lifted his head. "Can't you do it?"

"I'm not your servant. Get up and do it yourself."

"But it's all the way over there." Shion gave him a "please?" smile. Nezumi made a disgusted sound.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, pushing the door shut. As he slid the bolt home, Nezumi was struck with the perversity of a prisoner locking the door to his own cage.

"I'm so tired," Shion moaned into the bedspread.

Nezumi glared at him from the doorway, wondering how a person could be so careless.

"Go to sleep," he replied dispassionately, moving to his spot on the couch.

"Don't wanna." Shion pushed himself up into a sitting position and faced Nezumi. "Let's do something."

"Let's not. I've done enough somethings for one night. You want to do something, do us both a favor: take a cold shower, read a book, and go to bed."

Shion frowned. His eyes drifted from one object to another with the disinterest of one who spent his entire life in that very room. Nezumi shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the chair in front of the organ.

"Oh!" Shion exclaimed, zeroing in on him again. "Do you want me to treat your wounds?"

The question threw Nezumi for a moment, before he remembered he was sporting a number of bruises. He touched the tender spot on his chin and it twinged at the pressure. It felt like eons ago that he was taking knife lessons from Safu.

"My 'wounds' don't require your attention. Don't worry, I'm in no danger of bleeding out during the night."

"That's comforting," Shion said with a hint of a smile. "But maybe you should turn the heater on and sit near it for a little, just in case. I know ice is better for bruises, but we only have ice in the winter when it snows. Maybe I can buy cabbage."

"What? How did you get from ice to cabbage?"

"Eating leafy greens will speed up your healing. You see, bruises are just pools of blood under the skin, and leafy greens, like cabbage, are high in vitamin K, which helps blood clot—"

"Shion."

"Hm?"

"You're putting me to sleep."

"Oh, sorry. I babble when I drink too much. Or so I've been told."

Nezumi leaned down, lit the heater, and propped his legs up on the table. The room was well protected from the elements, but it was chilly, and it only became more so the closer it got to winter. He considered putting his jacket back on, but he couldn't reach it from where he sat and he didn't feel like getting up to retrieve it.

"Most people find it interesting at first," Shion continued, "because I don't like to talk normally."

"Is that a joke? You talk all the time. I don't think I know anyone that likes to talk as much as you do. Except maybe Kaze."

"But you only think that because I see you all the time. I mean, you're always right there," he gestured to the couch, "so it's easy to talk to you. And, anyway, I like talking to you."

"What are you, some kind of masochist? I don't think we've had a single polite conversation."

"Well, okay, maybe your manners aren't the best, but I don't know... You're interesting." Nezumi cocked an eyebrow. "What I mean is, you're not what I expected a No. 6 citizen to be like. You are in some ways, but if you weren't so uppity, I could easily imagine you being from West Block."

Nezumi snorted. "Maybe I was born on the wrong side of the wall."

"Yeah, maybe," Shion chuckled. "It's really too bad… If you had been born in the West Block, we could have talked about plays and poetry, and had intellectual discussions."

"Shion. We already do that."

"Yeah, I know. I know we do, but… Like you said, it's not polite. And that's okay. I understand. I deserve it."

What is he going on about now? Nezumi exhaled slowly through his nose. "I think you should go to sleep now."

Shion stared mutely at him. Nezumi picked a random book off the top of the pile on the coffee table and began to read. Maybe if he pretended to be busy, Shion would do as he was told.

"Nezumi?"

He hummed an acknowledgement, but didn't look up.

"I'm sorry for kidnapping you."

Nezumi snapped the book shut and threw it down on the table.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Shion didn't flinch at the venom in his voice, but only looked back at him ruefully. "That's not the kind of thing you can apologize for."

"I know. I'm not asking to be forgiven; I just want you to know that it wasn't supposed to be like this. The mission was supposed to be about exacting justice. We thought we were going to capture a government official or someone connected to the army, or the Hunt. Someone that would prove that the people of No. 6 were monsters—but you're not like that, and I'm sorry I dragged you into this."

"Well I'm sorry I ruined the hero fantasy for you and your buddies. That must be really tough." He dropped his legs from the table and faced Shion squarely. "But it comes with the territory, doesn't it? If you decide to throw in your lot with a pack of radicals, there's bound to be some innocents caught in the crossfire. You can't half-ass war. Because I don't know if you're naïve, or you're just ignoring it, but that's where this is headed.

"Do you think you guys can just shoot a couple of officers, stop the Hunt, and No. 6 is going to back off? They have an army, Shion. People are going to die—people from No. 6, people from the West Block. That's what you signed up for when you joined the Resistance. I can assure you Yoming isn't having moral conflicts about this, and No. 6 certainly won't have one either. If you aren't willing to do what it takes, why are you in the Resistance at all?"

Shion's eyes were bright and clear as they stared into Nezumi's. "Because I'm not good at dealing with pain."

The words invited no comment. Nezumi wouldn't have made one even if they had; the conversation had entered the realm of the intimately personal, which was a place he did not want to be. But Shion looked determined to speak his mind honestly and Nezumi found that he couldn't stop him.

"I'm not naïve," Shion said evenly. "I know what war entails and I know it requires sacrifices. And I realize how dangerous it is to have this kind of moral dilemma when we're already in this deep, but I can't help it. I'm trying to do the right thing, but I—I can't figure out what that is anymore.

"When I joined, I was grieving. I was angry and confused, and I didn't know where to turn. The Resistance had a clear goal then: stand up for yourself and stop No. 6, and that sounded pretty good to me. It sounded right. I knew Yoming was dangerous, but at least he was doing something. And he knew what I was going through because he had also lost his family. Maybe it was foolish of me, but I wanted to be useful. I wanted to help people with everything I had left. I still do."

Shion searched Nezumi's face for a sign of cynicism, but there was none. Nezumi waited quietly for him to finish. Shion sighed.

"You know why I study medicine? It's because my mom wanted me to." A weak smile formed on his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "One day she found this book of medical terms and told me I should try to learn them. She was convinced I could become a doctor one day if I tried hard enough. She used to say that since we lose so many lives here, it's about time someone saved a few." He breathed a short laugh at the memory. "My mom was like that. No matter what, she always stayed optimistic. A lot of people admired her, me especially…"

The smile melted. "She died a year ago," he said in a small voice. "I couldn't help her. She needed medicine. She needed a real doctor. I tried everything. I even sent a letter to my mom's friend in No. 6, but he couldn't get us anything. I just couldn't—" He grit his teeth. "I can't understand that. Why couldn't they just give us the medicine? No. 6 has more than enough, and people hardly ever get sick there anyway. People are dying here from illnesses that can be cured so easily if we just had the medicine! I don't understand—how can they treat us like that and not care?"

He struck the wall with his fist. Nezumi felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck. Despite the force of the impact, Shion had hardly winced. He studied the other boy's face, but his anger had already been spent, leaving nothing but exhaustion in its wake. The fervor faded from Shion's eyes, and he turned away toward the bookcases.

"I know it wasn't Rikiga's fault," he continued in a subdued voice. "He probably tried his best with the No. 6 officials. But it didn't matter. I was so angry and humiliated, I just… I said some really horrible things to him. I didn't even open the package he sent me after—" Shion closed his mouth abruptly and swallowed the words. A whirlwind of emotions played on his face, but in the end, he just sighed and lay back on the bed.

"Yeah, so that's why I'm in the Resistance," he muttered. "Because there was a time when I would've given anything to hurt the people in No. 6 the way they hurt us. And until last week, I was convinced that we were right. I was dedicated to the cause; you saw it. When I shot that officer, I didn't hesitate for a second. But now… I can't stop thinking about it. I keep thinking, you know, he probably had a family. I did what I needed to do for my job, but he was just doing his, and I can't stop thinking… about what my mom would say." He bit down hard on his lip, but Nezumi could already see the tears brimming in his eyes. "This isn't what I want. The Resistance, war—it can't be the only way."

A heavy silence followed in the wake of Shion's speech. Shion had turned his face toward the wall, presumably to hide his tears, and Nezumi chose to leave him be. He didn't know how to respond to the teen's outburst, or even if he should. He was still annoyed with Shion's lack of conviction, but most of all he felt tired.

Cheep cheep.

Nezumi looked down to see the three mice on the couch cushion next to him, but they were squeaking at Shion. The dark brown one sprang across to the bed and climbed onto Shion's chest. The boy gave a sniffle of surprise and turned to face it.

"Hamlet…" he murmured.

Cheep!

The other two mice chirruped and Shion gave them a small smile. In the same moment, he caught Nezumi's eye. He wiped the remnants of his tears away and cleared his throat. It was quiet again between them, but this silence was palpably uncomfortable rather than contemplative.

At last, Shion broke into a shaky laugh. "Sorry. I guess I'm a pretty miserable drunk."

Nezumi exhaled softly. "I can't help you with your moral crisis. That's something you have to sort out yourself."

Shion turned away and stroked Hamlet's nose with the tip of his finger. The pose was annoying, and Nezumi shifted his position on the couch so that he could throw his legs up onto table again.

"For what it's worth," he said finally. "I'm not sorry you shot that officer."

Shion glanced at him with a discomfited expression, but Nezumi ignored him and continued. "If you hadn't, then both of us would be dead. I'd rather be alive and, even though I didn't know your Mama, I think it's safe to say she'd rather you be, too."

Shion didn't say anything, so Nezumi was forced to look over at him. Shion's eyes were misty and he was pressing his lips together in an attempt to hold back his emotion.

Nezumi released a shallow sigh.

"There's no point in dwelling on it. Just be glad you got to know your Mama. You should treasure the good memories you had with her."

Shion blinked. HeShion wiped his eyes and looked at Nezumi anew. "I'm sorry."

"About what? The crying?"

"No, I mean… About your mom," he said tentatively. "Did something happen?"

Wait a minute. When did this become a conversation about me? Then he realized his mistake. He had only meant to pacify Shion, but apparently the boy took his mention of mothers as an admission of personal loss. Why is he so persistent? What good does it do him to know about my life?

"That's not what I meant," Nezumi grunted. "And besides, I thought I made it clear that I won't be answering personal questions."

Shion set Hamlet down so he could roll onto his side to face Nezumi. "But if you don't tell me anything, I won't be able to understand you."

"Huh? Geez… Do you even hear yourself? You don't need to know someone's past to understand their character."

Shion pressed his lips together. "I would like to know about you."

"Why? Why is it so important?"

"Because we're friends."

Nezumi clenched his jaw shut. "We are not friends."

"We could be."

"You are so—!" Nezumi pinched the bridge of his nose. His head was beginning to throb. "Forget it. You're too drunk to reason with."

"I'm perfectly lucid now," Shion insisted.

"No, you're not. You can't be, otherwise you wouldn't be spouting off such nonsense and I wouldn't have a migraine."

"Look," Shion huffed. "I know you think I'm annoying and pushy and entitled and you don't trust me, but I wish you would. Trust me, that is. I want to help."

Nezumi laughed, but the sound was hollow. "Help, huh?" He sucked in a breath. "Fine. If it's really so important, my parents were killed by No. 6—I don't know why, so don't ask. There, now you know. So tell me," he dropped his hand and looked Shion squarely in the eye, "what shining insight did you glean about my character?"

Shion stared unblinkingly back at him. "I'm sorry, Nezumi."

Nezumi twitched. Every damn time. How can one person be such a pain?

"There's nothing to apologize for."

"…How did you get by? Afterward."

"Are you seriously trying to bond over our dead parents?"

Shion swallowed thickly and turned his head toward the wall. Nezumi scowled. What did Shion expect? He never once claimed to be empathetic or sentimental, so why was the other boy looking to him for solace? Was he really that miserable?

Nezumi clicked his tongue. "Look, I don't know what to tell you. I don't remember them, so I really can't give you any pointers on how to cope."

Shion peeked at him out of the corner of his eye, curious, but cautious not to appear overeager. "You don't remember anything about your parents?"

In the past, Nezumi usually only thought of his parents in relation to how much he hated the old woman. He yearned for them as an escape, but although he had felt a sense of loss at their deaths, he couldn't summon a deeply emotional response. He was so young when his parents died he couldn't even remember their faces. At times, this bothered him, but more often he was glad for it. One could not mourn the loss of something they didn't remember.

Nezumi shrugged a shoulder. "Not really. Just impressions. My mother singing, my name being called…"

"Your name? Your real name?"

Shion had turned back to him and the interest on his face was plain to see, but this was one piece of information Nezumi was not willing to share.

"Yeah." He turned away from Shion's penetrating gaze. "But No. 6 had another name for me. 'Takashi,'" he scoffed. "I don't even look like a Takashi."

Shion breathed a laugh. "It really doesn't fit you at all. But then again, neither does 'Nezumi.'"

Nezumi smirked. "Another name the good citizens of No. 6 deigned to give me. But I've grown rather fond of it. It's better than 'Takashi,' at any rate."

Shion's expression had softened and he was watching Nezumi with steady concentration. He preferred Shion not crying, but the staring was almost as bad. He was used to being looked at, but the looks he typically got were charged with lust or hatred—Shion's gazes were neither. They were completely sincere, and that was always uncomfortable, but in light of the vulnerability he had shown, he felt the sharpness of Shion's gaze more keenly now than ever.

He cleared his throat in an attempt to diffuse the tension, but it did not dissuade Shion from his staring.

"Admiring my good looks?" Nezumi said finally. Shion blinked once, but then a slow smile dawned on his face.

"Yeah."

Nezumi stilled at the unabashedly honest answer.

"You're really beautiful, Nezumi," Shion continued, unmindful of the other boy's reaction. "And not just physically. The way you talk and move—there's an elegance to it. But your eyes especially… The color—" He yawned, his gaze losing its intensity. "It's so… quiet." He let out a soft breath and closed his eyes.

Nezumi stared blankly for a moment.

"Shion?" The only response he got were a series of soft snores. He clicked his tongue. "Idiot. You can't just say something like that and then pass out. How hopeless can you get?"

Nezumi released a tired sigh, and flinched when he realized he had done so without thinking. A deliberate sigh was one thing, but letting one escape by accident was inexcusable. He hated that.

"Don't sigh. Do you realize how ungrateful you sound? You live in a wonderful city where you will never get sick, or starve, or suffer at all. You should feel blessed. Don't you ever let me hear you sigh. You have nothing to be unhappy about."

He had lost count of the number of times the old woman had said such things to him as a child. Eventually, he had stopped sighing altogether, not because he cared for the old woman's opinion, but because he knew that nothing good could come of it.

In No. 6, sighing often was the same as admitting that you were unsatisfied; which was to say you were a problem that needed to be fixed, likely by way of a thorough interrogation and possible incarceration. He supposed he didn't need to worry about that now that he had escaped No. 6, but even so, he refused to give the practice up. Sighing was synonymous with defeat, and he would not lose to anyone, not even to himself.

I can't afford to be careless, he thought.

But he had already been careless. Not only had he sighed involuntarily, but he had also shared information about his life—and for what? He wished he could say that he had been tricked or forced into it, but the truth was far worse.

I let him get to me. A wave of irritation passed over him as he leered at the face of the sleeping boy.

He always felt angry around Shion. At first it was because he was keeping him captive, but lately, even though the resentment of his captivity remained a constant undercurrent, his annoyance arose at the slightest provocation. Sometimes Shion was being nosy and deserved it, but most of the time he hadn't said or done anything inflammatory. He even seemed to go out of his way to tiptoe around questions and topics he thought might be offensive, and that was irksome. When Shion did voice what he was thinking, he was candid about it, and the things he said were never what Nezumi expected.

Nezumi considered himself to be adept at predicting human nature. To his experience, no one was kind out of pure selflessness; there was always something to be gained or protected. If he learned anything from the old woman and No. 6, it was that trust was a thing hard and rarely earned. It was a dangerous gamble and a weakness too easily exploited, and as far as he could tell, the people in the West Block thought the same.

Shion was the only outlier. He was trusting to the point of naivety, sincere to the point of foolishness, and no amount of disparaging comments or cynicism discouraged him. Shion was the most straightforwardly decent human being he knew, and yet he had not only managed to survive the cutthroat atmosphere of the West Block, but he seemed to thrive in it. Everyone Shion came into contact with treated him with warm respect, if not genuine affection. Even Yoming must have noticed and valued his effect on people; otherwise he wouldn't have allowed Shion into the inner circle of his group.

The kid was an enigma. Nezumi couldn't predict him, and that put him constantly on edge. It was exhausting. Shion was so nonthreatening, it was threatening. Nezumi smiled thinly at the notion.

"I don't understand you at all," he said to the sleeping boy, and this time he allowed himself a small sigh.

The mice had disappeared during his contemplation, and the room had settled into a silence punctuated only by the hypnotic ticking of the clock. The fatigue of the day's events was beginning to catch up to him. He kicked off his boots, pulled the blanket off the top of the couch, and lay down. He was in the middle of trying to find the position that he was least likely to regret in the morning when he heard a voice call his name.

He lifted his upper body and peered over at the bed. "I thought you passed out."

But Shion was blinking at him, apparently wide-awake as he said, "Thanks for sharing."

"—Huh?"

"I know you don't like to talk about yourself, but I'm really happy you did."

Nezumi shrank away from the feeling in his voice. "Don't go getting all touchy feely on me. This was a one-time thing. I won't be doing it again."

"I understand," he said with a small smile. "I just wanted to tell you how much it means to me."

Nezumi made an appalled face. "How— Where do you get these lines? Aren't you embarrassed at all?"

Shion looked thoughtful. "Maybe it's the alcohol, but I'm not. I'm just trying to speak truthfully."

What the hell? He's hopeless, utterly hopeless.

"Well, stop. You're giving me the creeps. Go back to sleep before you say something I'm really going to regret."

Shion chuckled, but obediently closed his eyes. After a few seconds he appeared to be just as soundly asleep as he had been previously. Nezumi waited for sleep to come to him as well, but after a few minutes staring at the ceiling, he realized it was not a possibility. He needed some air. He pushed the blankets off, grabbed his coat, and stepped outside.